


Ray's Caribbean Adventure

by dessert_first



Category: due South
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Pining, Realization, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, True Love, Working things out, location porn, regular porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-03
Updated: 2007-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessert_first/pseuds/dessert_first
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ray?” Fraser sounds sleep-fuzzed and confused over the telephone line. “Ray, are you all right?”</p><p>“Fraser, Fraser buddy, I am better than all right. I am great. I am greatness. I am on vacation in the fucking Caribbean, on a tropical island paradise, just like in the travel agency brochures. Everyone wears bikinis every day, and I sucked some guy’s cock and didn’t even think about you, and I went on a tour of the rum factory, Fraser, and did you know they give you free samples there?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ray's Caribbean Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely [](http://j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com/profile)[**j_s_cavalcante**](http://j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com/) and [](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/profile)[**slidellra**](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/) for beta. And thanks to [](http://nos4a2no9.livejournal.com/profile)[**nos4a2no9**](http://nos4a2no9.livejournal.com/) for valiantly aiding and abbetting the porn, and for a superspeedy beta. This story would not exist as it is without her input throughout the writing process. Any errors are mine, all mine. Thanks again, my dear!
> 
> Written for [](http://stop-drop-porn.livejournal.com/profile)[**stop_drop_porn**](http://stop-drop-porn.livejournal.com/) , for [](http://moosesal.livejournal.com/profile)[**moosesal**](http://moosesal.livejournal.com/)’s prompt of "ring."

This is as far away as Ray can get from Fraser. Lying on a beach in the Caribbean, watching the surfers ride the waves, drinking a cold Medalla. The sun is hot and heavy, pressing down on him like a weight, like he imagines…

But hey, there’s nothing to imagine, is there? Because Ray is in paradise, baby, on a tropical island while everyone back home at the 2-7 is worried about salting the roads and unearthing their cars from piles of snow, and Fraser is up in the Yukon worrying about ice thieves or something.

Ray closes his eyes behind his sunglasses and tilts his face up into the light. The air smells enticingly like the cool, salty water, and he takes a deep breath. Fraser would probably be able to tell the exact content of minerals in the water, and what kind of seaweed was native to the area, and tell long, boring stories about the fascinating microcosm inside each drop of water. Ray shakes his head, tosses his sunglasses down on the towel and moves up off it, the sand scorching his feet as he all but runs to the water. His body cuts into the cool, fresh waves and he lets them buffet him for a while, pushing his toes up off the sandy bottom, rising up to steal rough gasps of air, plunging back down as the waves overwhelm him, making his eyes sting.

::

There’s a gay hotel on the beach in Condado. When Ray heads back to the metro area, he lays out on the beach there for a while, under the fluttering rainbow flag, and watches the waves break. When he gets thirsty, he heads for the bar, on an open terrace facing the water, and orders a beer.

He sips it quietly, eyes on the shore, until a guy sits next to him.

::

They’re making out in the guy’s hotel room when a thought surfaces. Ray bashes it back down immediately, and sucks the guy’s tongue into his mouth. Just two tourists, getting together to get off. It’s his vacation, and it’s his adventure, if he wants. Why not have an adventure of his own, without—why not do what he wants, if he wants to? Who would it hurt?

The guy’s hand slides down Ray’s ribs and curves around to cup his ass. Ray shivers and pulls the hand away instinctively. The guy pulls back a step or two, raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. “Blowjob okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ray says, bouncing up a little on the balls of his feet. The guy’s too far away now, isn’t near enough to crowd out the thoughts. “Yeah, that’s good. Blowjobs are, uh, are good.”

The guy smiles like sin, full lips and mischievous eyes, and shucks off his shirt, dark skin like coffee with just the slightest hint of cream in it. A gold nipple ring winks brightly on his chest. He sinks to his knees, careful not to touch Ray’s ass again, dragging his hands down the front of Ray’s body, down to his thighs, and hell, he probably thinks Ray is some sort of Gay Code moron, or has PTSD or something. What is he, trying to save his ass for—for a special occasion?

There’s a sudden flare of pain behind his eyes, and Ray screws them shut and presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. He _is_ , isn’t he? He’s saving his ass for Fraser, and Fraser doesn’t even—a snicker escapes him, a hopeless hysterical sound, and the guy pulls away from where he’s been nuzzling up against Ray’s crotch, a smile hovering around the corners of his generous mouth like he’s waiting to be let in on the joke.

Ray shakes his head, sinks down to his knees and cups the guy’s—Diego’s, the guy has a fucking name, he’s from Brooklyn, he’s here on vacation too and Ray is ruining it for him—he cups Diego’s face and kisses him, tasting rum and coke and the tang of lime. Diego goes along with it, lets Ray pull him down to the floor and strip off his swimsuit and swallow him down, tasting of sea salt and musk and smelling so damn different from anyone else that Ray can just close his eyes and learn Diego’s rythms like he’s dancing.

This is as far away as Ray can get from Fraser.

Diego thrusts up into his mouth, gasping, panting, keening, and Ray takes it, takes all of it, lets Diego fill his mouth and grab his hair and thrust in and out, rubbing his tongue. He holds down the sharply defined blades of Diego’s hips and sucks and sucks and sucks until Diego is cursing, pleading with Ray to set him loose or get him off, please god, please god, please get him off. Ray pulls away, loving the thick slide of Diego’s cock against his lips, concentrates on the head, then takes him down again, cupping his balls, comes up and jacks him once, twice, mouth on Diego’s balls until he cries out harshly and comes all over himself.

Ray pulls back and grins down at him, and Diego just lies there panting, grinning back.

“You call that a blowjob?” he finally says, still catching his breath.

“Seemed to do okay by you,” Ray smirks.

“Nah,” Diego says, running his hands down his taut body, chest to ribs to hips, raising up his arms to stretch luxuriously. “I was just being polite. Hey, don’t laugh! C’mere, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Grinning, Ray climbs onto him, swarms up his lean, firm body until his thighs are straddling Diego’s face, his cock just brushing those full lips.

Diego smiles and slowly, slowly takes Ray in.

::

“Hey Fraser,” Ray says. “You ever been to Puerto Rico?” After Diego politely walked Ray back to the bar, Ray got seriously, seriously hammered, then walked down the street to his hotel.

“Ray?” Fraser sounds sleep-fuzzed and confused over the telephone line. “Ray, are you all right?”

“Fraser, Fraser buddy, I am better than all right. I am great. I am greatness. I am on vacation in the fucking Caribbean, on a tropical island paradise, just like in the travel agency brochures. Everyone wears bikinis every day, and I sucked some guy’s cock and didn’t even think about you, and I went on a tour of the rum factory, Fraser, and did you know they give you free samples there?”

“Ray. Ray. Ray! Where are you? Are you in your hotel room?”

Ray looks around vaguely. Is he in his hotel room? Yes. Maybe. Probably. “Probably,” he says firmly. “Did you know they have a gay hotel on the beach here, Fraser? That’s where I met the guy with the cock. He didn’t smell like you.”

“Listen to me carefully, Ray. This is very important. Do not leave your hotel room. Stay right where you are until you sober up in the morning.”

“But Fraser, there’s dancing!” Ray dances a little, just thinking about it, but it kind of makes him want to throw up. Still, he can hear the music playing outside his window. “Gotta dance or it’s not a vacation, Fraser. Mushing through the snow wearing eighty layers of clothing is not a vacation, Fraser. Vacations are in sunny places, with beaches and pretty girls and dancing. No layers.”

“Yes, Ray, I understand. Vacations don’t have layers. Why don’t you just lie down for a minute, and rest up for the dancing?”

That sounds like a good idea. Fraser is a pretty smart guy.

“Okay,” Ray says, and the room stops spinning as much when he does. “Did you know gambling’s legal here? They got casinos. Lotta old people there, though.”

“That’s nice,” Fraser says, sounding a little bit relieved. “Tell me more, Ray.”

::

Ray wakes up with a screaming headeache and a dull beeping in his ear. After a minute, he sorts out the source of the beeping and hangs up the phone.

Then he gets up, drinks three bottles of water, and collapses back on the bed.

::

The phone rings around two o’clock in the afternoon, when Ray is just considering venturing downstairs for some breakfast.

“Hello?”

“Ray,” Fraser sounds disgustingly awake. Probably sitting at his desk at the detachment, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and decked out in the serge. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fraser,” Ray frowns. “Did you call me last night?”

There is a long pause. “Actually, Ray,” Fraser says, and coughs. “You called—never mind. How is your vacation going?”

::

That night, Ray goes out to Old San Juan. There are a lot of overpriced, fancy bars on Fortaleza street, the kind Stella would love. A few places have music, so Ray picks the one with the best beat and goes in, dances a little.

He lucks out, finds a group that’s short a few men, so he’s got plenty of dance partners for the asking. Before long he’s sweating and exhilarated, feeling the music all through his body, feeling his partner moving smooth as silk in his arms.

He grins down at her—long dark hair, golden skin and a red dress, and she fits just right against him—and she grins back. He dips her, and when she comes up again, she’s laughing. There’s a sheen of sweat gleaming on her skin, and her face is glowing. When she laughs, she flashes dimples.

When they head back to her table for a drink, the other women laugh and tease her, but she grins at Ray and tosses her hair, setting her long earrings swinging.

Ray feels lightheaded, and he’s barely had any beer.

She turns to one of the women, whose white dress sets off her chocolate skin, and whispers in her ear. The woman looks at Ray, and he offers a smile. She looks him up and down slowly, then nods at her friend. They turn to him as one and smile.

::

The whole ride over to their hotel, Ray is half convinced he’s dreaming. These things do not happen to Ray Kowalski. They just don’t.

The girls are whispering to each other and giggling, and when they get him to their room they push him down on the bed. The one in the red dress, Lexa, kicks off her silver sandals and hops onto the bed with him, grinning like Ray’s just told the best joke ever. The one in the white, Zoraida, sits demurely on the edge of the bed and unties her gold sandals, unwinding the straps from her shapely brown legs.

Dimples flashing again, Lexa straddles Ray and kisses him, pressing her soft breasts up against his chest and squirming distractingly. She smells like musk and she tastes like mango and coconut rum. Ray can’t get enough of the flavor, delves deeper and deeper into her mouth and she just opens up and lets him. Jesus, he’s missed women.

Zoraida has moved on from her shoes to Ray’s, and is tugging at his shoelaces. She removes Ray’s shoes and socks, then stands up and slips out of her dress, draping it carefully over a chair. Her underwear goes next, little lacy scraps of nothing set aside on the chair, and Ray’s got his hands on Lexa’s generous hips while Lexa mouths at his neck and the line of his jaw.

Naked, Zoraida walks over to the bed and climbs on. She looks down at Ray and smiles, and he has to, has to touch her, has to put his hands on her soft skin, and she lets him, leans into his touch and sighs prettily.

When Ray looks up, Lexa’s naked too, and there’s a puddle of red fabric on the nightstand. She turns to rummage in the drawer and Ray is treated to the sight of her sweet round ass. Zoraida rubs up against him and Ray buries his hand in her hair and kisses her. She molds herself to his body and squirms against him, a long, full-body rub, and she smells like jasmine and tastes like passion fruit and vodka.

Finished with her rummaging, Lexa presses up against Ray’s other side, and he could die right now and have no regrets, not a one. Wait, yes, one. He’s still dressed.

He pulls away from them and they pout enticingly. “Hang on, hang on,” he says, still getting over the novelty that they want him here. “Gotta take my clothes off.”

They help him, Zoraida folding his shirt and underlying white tank neatly and setting them aside on the other nightstand, Lexa yanking off his pants and boxer briefs and flinging them across the room.

Lexa pushes at Ray’s shoulder and he turns onto his side, slides one leg up over Zoraida’s thigh and fuck, he’s leaking precome all over the soft curve of her belly. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, just loops her arms around Ray’s neck and keeps kissing him, making soft little noises that are driving Ray crazy. Lexa’s bare breasts press up against Ray’s back and he hisses at the contact, so good. He feels sharp little teeth bite into his shoulder and a soft, warm hand smooth his hip and snake around to cup his cock. She jacks him twice, slowly, and he has to break the kiss with Zoraida and bite his lip to keep from coming.

He reaches back behind him blindly, grabs hold of a soft, round hip and over and around to cup her ass. She moans and presses into him, her hand tightening on his cock. Wincing, he pulls her hand away, kisses Zoraida again and turns to face Lexa.

“Don’t think you wanna do that,” he waggles his eyebrows meaningfully, “not if you want me to last. I’m already making, like, a superhuman effort here.”

“We’ll help you,” Lexa grins. She winks at Zoraida, who smiles back. Lexa reaches into the nightstand drawer again and produces a cock ring. Two sets of soft, warm hands put it on him with an efficiency that speaks of some serious practice, and Ray closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing until they’re done.

 _“Lo encontré yo,”_ Lexa's arms are crossed just under her bare breasts when he opens his eyes again. _“A mi me toca primero.”_

 _“Tú fuiste primero la última vez,”_ Zoraida argues.

_“¡Paquetera! Fuiste tú. ¿No te acuerdas del griego?”_

_“¡Ah, el griego! Bueno, vale.”_

When she turns to look at him, Lexa’s smile is triumphant.

“Did you just—” Ray frowns.

“Yes,” Lexa beams happily. “It’s my turn. I go first.”

Okay, Ray had been wrong. _This_ is as far away as he can get from Fraser.

Zoraida rolls her eyes, but a smile is tugging at the corners of her generous mouth. Lexa sits up against the headboard and spreads her legs invitingly. Ray’s mouth waters. He clambers up on all fours and darts his tongue out to taste her, the rich flavor and musky scent exploding on his tongue. She squeals and grabs his hair, her thighs tensing. He eats her out slowly, thoroughly, alternating long, slow laps with short, hard stabs of his tongue. She lets him set the pace, throwing her head back and moaning.

 _“Zoraida, Zoraida, este chico es talentoso, te va a gustar.”_ Her voice trails off in a whimper when Ray flicks her clit.

Ray grins at the compliment, backs away and presses kisses to the insides of her silky thighs. She moves with him as smoothly as she did on the dance floor, and Ray hasn’t danced like this in years.

Zoraida presses up behind him, puts her soft, long-fingered hand on his back, slides it around to cup his cock, then wriggles underneath him and Jesus, Jesus, puts her mouth on his cock, wraps her sweet warm lips around his shaft and plays with him with her tongue.

Ray bites his lip so hard he almost draws blood. He puts his mouth back on Lexa’s sex, drowning in her, works her until she comes screaming, kicking her little heels on the bed. She pulls him up and away from Zoraida’s hot mouth and kisses him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and drinking her juices, making appreciative little sounds, patting at his hair.

When she lets him go, he sees Zoraida has taken her place at the head of the bed, propped up against the pillows, and Ray sinks down onto her warm body, kisses his way down her full breasts, her smooth belly and her tantalizing hips. He scoops up her legs in his hands and pulls them apart, pushes them back and has her hold them open for him, sets about mapping her out with lips and tongue and the barest scraping of teeth. She tastes different from Lexa, sweet and salty and musky and god, wonderful, and her hands are gentle on him, stroking his hair as she coos to him in Spanish.

He feels a soft little hand on his back, stroking its way down along his spine to rest on his ass, playing with him, petting him, following the line of his body around to toy with his balls, tugging at the cock ring, making him wince.

As soon as she comes, Zoraida grabs a condom and gives it to Lexa, who slips it on him with her quick, clever fingers. Zoraida lets him fuck her then, taking him into her body with a soft sigh, her hands settling on his shoulders. He feels like every inch of his body is pressed up against her or deep inside her, and she’s burning him, scorching him with her delicious heat. She locks her legs around his back and pushes up against him, squeezing him, tightening around him inside and out, making him cry out along with her, Lexa stroking his back and he’s swallowing Zoraida’s cries with his eager mouth. He slips a hand between them and works her clit and she comes screaming, bucking against him, then kisses him once more and gently pushes him away, turning him towards her friend.

He rolls over onto his back and Lexa climbs onto him, removing the cock ring just before she sinks down onto his still-sheathed cock and rides him with abandon and he tries, he really tries to hang on for just a little longer, fucking up into her blazing heat as she bounces and laughs.

He might die from this, but he’ll die a happy man.

::

Ray stumbles back to his hotel room around noon, chugs down two bottles of water and faceplants on the bed. There are perfect red, round crescent marks all over his skin, hickeys in some unmentionable places, and he feels better than he’s felt in years.

He sleeps like the dead.

::

When the phone rings at two o’clock, he is tempted to just unplug it and keep enjoying his much-needed sleep, but it’s probably Fraser, and Ray never could say no to Fraser.

“Hey, Fraser,” he says.

“Hello, Ray.” Fraser’s voice is hearty and cheery and wholesome, and Ray could really use some more sleep. Or at least some coffee. “How are you enjoying your vacation?”

“Fraser, my friend,” Ray says. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

::

That night Ray goes down to have a drink at the hotel bar. A broad-shouldered guy with dark hair and blue eyes checks him out, a slow, hot once-over, and Ray lets the guy buy him a drink, pretends to himself for the space of that one beer that he’d be able to go through with it, take this guy upstairs and suck him off and pretend—pretend he was somebody else.

He ditches the guy mid-sentence and finds a bar down the street. Meets an Asian-American guy in a t-shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops. He’s got floppy hair and a trim swimmer’s build and Ray thinks, okay. This I can handle.

So he does.

After a few drinks the guy is laughing, cracking jokes in a broad California accent and discussing the finer points of surfing. Ray lets him talk about tides and waves and the merits of various beaches as they drink their beers. After his fourth beer the guy, Ernie, slides off his barstool with elegant grace and beckons Ray to follow him. They head out to the beach, which is dark and deserted and full of the sound of crashing waves.

Ernie smiles at Ray, devil in his dark eyes, and slips out of his clothes. Naked, he walks into the churning water, then turns and holds out his hand.

Ray grins and shucks off his own clothes, then joins him. They kiss with the waves breaking on them, let go and sink into the water, then come together again, neck deep but with Ray’s feet still reassurringly planted on the sand.

Ernie’s fingers swarm over Ray’s dick under the water, and this, this is as far away as Ray can get from Fraser. Ernie’s face is beautiful in the moonlight. He wears a silver ring on a knotted cord around his neck and nothing else, and his hair is wet and slicked back from his face, and his eyes are dark and his mouth is generous and he’s got to be twenty, twenty-five at most, and Ray is positively ancient.

They jerk each other off in the water, licking saltwater off each other’s necks and shoulders, kissing the taste of beer from each other’s mouths. Ernie comes with a glad cry, then sinks under the water, sleek as a dolphin, bursts back up again and kisses Ray, laughing into his mouth.

Ray holds onto him and smiles, letting him laugh, feels his broad palm engulf Ray’s dick, slide down to cup his balls, slide back to rub at his perineum and further back to Ray’s hole, and Ray thinks, why the hell not? It’s not like F—it’s not like anyone’s waiting for him. Why should Ray wait for anyone?

He pulls Ernie’s hand forward onto his dick anyway, lets the water buoy him up and Ernie support his weight, lets Ernie jack him hard and fast and perfect.

This is as far away as Ray can get from Fraser. Floating in the water on a beach in the Caribbean, letting some surfer kid jack him, bucking up into his hand, gripping his lean, taut, not-at-all-like-Fraser body, listening to his not-at-all-like-Fraser curses, feeling the not-at-all-like-Fraser clasp of his hand on Ray’s dick. The moonlight dapples the water and there are stars in the sky, millions of light-years away from Ray and his fucks, and just as far from Fraser, up north in an igloo with his rules and his reserve and his _politeness_ which is all just a bunch of crap.

The ring on Ernie’s necklace gleams dully in the moonlight.

::

Ray makes it to his hotel room just after dawn, drinks a bottle of water, and actually manages to take his clothes off this time before he dives onto the bed. He is sleeping when the phone rings at two o’clock, same as always, and he struggles up into consciousness, runs a hand through his bed-rumpled, salt-crusted hair and looks at the phone with something like fondness before he picks it up.

“Hey, Fraser,” he says. “You ever feel like you’re going around in circles?”

“I, ah—” Fraser’s voice falters over the line. “Hello, Ray. How is your vacation going?”

“Because I do. Sometimes I really do. I’m in Chicago, fighting crime, going to the same places, eating the same things, seeing the same people, doing the same things. So I come to the tropics and I’m just… I’m going to new places and eating new things and seeing new people, but I just keep thinking about the same _old_ people, and have you ever thought about men, Fraser?”

“Men, Ray?” Fraser sounds bewildered, and he’s so far away Ray can’t see his face to tell if he’s actually bewildered or just Mountie bewildered, buying time with his Canadian shtick.

“Yeah,” Ray says impatiently, because he is pushing forty and he’s got an ex-wife and a turtle and a job that routinely endangers life and limb and not much else to show for it, and more regrets than he can count. And because if he’s going to be fucking people on the beach, he would like it to be Fraser. “Men. Men, Fraser, have you ever thought about men. Like, sexually. Do you, could you, you know. Could you find a man attractive?”

There is a long silence on the other end of the line. “In a, ah, symbolic sense, Ray?”

Ray rolls his eyes even though Fraser’s so far away he can’t see him do it. “No, Fraser, not symbolically. Not hypothetically. Not allegorically. Really, actually, personally attractive.”

“I—yes,” Fraser finally says, breathlessly. “I could. I can. I—I do, Ray.”

Ray sits up in the bed, pressing the phone to his ear, listening to Fraser’s slightly stuttered breathing. “You do?” he asks, incredulous.

“I do,” Fraser says firmly. “All the time. Always. Since… since always, Ray.”

“Oh,” Ray says, sitting naked amidst the rumpled white sheets of his bed, his bed in a tropical fucking paradise that no one’s slept in except him, and he feels the birth of something new starting low in his belly. “Me too, Fraser. Ben. Me, too.”

Fraser is smiling into the phone, Ray can _tell_ he’s smiling, he doesn’t care how far away Fraser is, he knows Fraser’s blue eyes are crinkling at the corners and his crooked tooth is showing and he’s the most beautiful sight Ray hasn’t seen in way too long.

“Fraser,” Ray says. “You sound like you could use a vacation. Let me buy you a ticket to the tropics, huh? Whaddaya say? A little sun, a little sand, a little bloom and close in the water, absolutely no layers at all. You’ll love it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will, Ray,” Fraser says warmly, and it feels like his voice is traveling all the way through the phone line to tickle at Ray’s ear, and Ray can’t stop smiling.

This is as close as Ray can get to Fraser right now, but it feels like he’s never been closer, and they’ll be a lot closer than that soon enough.

The End.

***

Translations for the threesome scene:

“I found him!” Lexa is wearing a smug grin when he opens his eyes again. “I get to go first.”

“You went first last time!” Zoraida argues.

“You big liar! It was you. Don’t you remember the Greek guy?”

“Oh, the Greek guy! Yeah, okay.”

  
And later:

“Zoraida, Zoraida, this guy is talented, you’re gonna like him.”


End file.
